


Mercy

by asslalonde (rawrmynameisval)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, Light Bondage, Masochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrmynameisval/pseuds/asslalonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months after the incident at Saint Bart’s. Holed up in his brother’s estate, hiding from the world, understimulated and bored to death, Sherlock Holmes felt himself wanting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote for a Sherene rp, but cleaned up a little. Not explicit porn, but porn enough.

Three months after the incident at Saint Bart’s. Holed up in his brother’s estate, hiding from the world, understimulated and bored to death, Sherlock Holmes felt himself wanting.

He blinked, and took far too long to recognize the sensation. It was one he didn’t often experience. Only a few rare cases did he recall feeling the same way.

He left that night, packed his belonging and jumped on a plane. He didn’t bother telling Mycroft where he was going. No doubt the man would realize as soon as he noticed Sherlock was gone.

She had given him her number before they parted. Of course she had. Neither were quite ready to say goodbye forever, with so many things left unsaid, so many things left undone…

The flight took far too long and he tapped his fingers to his knee agitatedly, unconsciously rehearsing the meaningless binary code Moriarty had burned into his memory.

  
  


When he finally reached the hotel room she had booked for their appointment, he hesitated. He almost didn’t knock, suddenly considering the painful possibility that she hadn’t missed him at all. How could she have felt the same sort of fierce nostalgia tugging at her bones as he had felt for her? He almost changed his mind and walked away.

But she had been waiting for him, and he didn’t have time to make a last-minute decision.

“Good evening, Mr. Holmes,” she purred as her eyes traced over his body.

Sherlock felt a heat rising in him, a heat he had only felt around her. The wanting grew to be near painful.

“I hear you can make me beg for mercy,” he murmured simply.

“Twice.”

“So I hear.”

She smiled and took his hand. She led him inside without a word.

  
  


She was on top of him, straddling his back while he lay facedown on the bed, and his hands were handcuffed to the headboard. Her hands trailed down his shoulders, fingertips quickly becoming sharp nails, biting into the skin she had already reddened with her riding crop. The pain forced a hiss out of him and he fought against the urge to attempt to throw her off. His pride held him still. If he squirmed, she’d know she nearly had him.

“Well,” she purred in his ear. He felt her breasts pressing into his back, her nipples hard. He wondered if it was from the cold, or arousal, or both. “I think you’re ready for something a little more…intense.”

The pressure and heat of her body disappeared. A second later, the warmth of her breath was on his neck. “You are really a virgin, aren’t you?”

He growled in response, which she triumphantly took as a yes.

“Remember what I said about safe words, dear?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes even though he knew she couldn’t see him do so. “Of course. ‘Mercy’. But it won’t matter because I’m not going to need it anyway.”

He felt teeth sink into his shoulder, drawing a gasp from him.

“Don’t underestimate the need for a safe word,” she whispered, and kissed his shoulder blades.

The feeling of those lips on his skin made him want to moan, but he kept a hold of himself and swallowed the noise.

And then he felt that sharp hand on his back again, trailing down to the sensitive skin to his arse. A finger, wet with lubricant, pressed against his entrance. That undid him, and he let out a whimper before he could stop himself.

“That’s a good boy,” she murmured softly, pushing deeper until he felt he might break.

They went on like that for what seemed like hours. She tested his limits and then pushed them, pulling back out just as he felt he might fall apart if she continued.

She drew all kinds of words from him that night, louder and harsher than ‘mercy’, and she only stopped when he had been satisfied.

She didn’t sleep with clients as a personal rule. They could get too attached. The pain she inflicting upon them made them love her, spending the night in the same bed would only make them think she loved them back.

But Sherlock Holmes couldn’t be called a client. He’d always be a special case. And so she held him to her as he dozed off, exhausted from the night’s events, and let herself close her eyes.


End file.
